“Don’t,” Mischa says, letting his hand fall. “You talk. She deserves to hear this.”
“I’d rather be sure, sir,” Evgeni insists, displaying a rare hesitation. “My men will not stop until you have your answers.”
“Answers,” Mischa says with a scoff. He meets my gaze, his eyes so bloodshot that at a glance, they seem scarlet. Ablaze.
But I know him—if his wife or son were dead, he would be nowhere near this composed.
“They are alive,” he says as if reading my mind.
An overwhelming wave of relief nearly brings me to my knees. Evgeni approaches me, grabbing my arm to steady me. As he guides me to a chair, Mischa continues. “I won’t spare you the truth,” he says hoarsely. “Not this time. Eli was badly hurt. He’ll live, but they don’t know yet what the long-term damage might be. His arm was shattered…” He groans, rubbing at his temples. After a second’s pause, he says, “He’s conscious at least. Anna is there with him. Your mother isn’t so lucky. She is alive, but they had to take the baby early. Both survived the surgery, but for her own good, they had to keep Ellen sedated. She lost a lot of blood.”
Despair clenches my lungs in a fist, but dread builds the longer I meet his gaze. He’s telling me this for a reason, warning me to steel myself.
Because as painful as this is to hear, it’s not the worst of it.
Not by far.
“They were attacked,” he says. “And I could lie to you. Hide this from you. But I won’t.”
He slams his fist onto the table, knocking a pile of documents to the floor. As his eyes cut back up to mine, they burn fiercely, in a way I’ve never seen them. At least not in years.
Not since the day he acquired me as little more than a fearsome stranger.
“Tell her,” he barks to Evgeni. “Tell her what you’ve found.”
The bodyguard stiffens, his jaw clenched. “Sir—”
“Fine. I will tell her. They were attacked by Donatello Vanici’s men,” Mischa says. “And I love you, but this time… I won’t show mercy.”
He stands, pushing past his desk. My mind goes blank as my body reacts on sheer instinct. I scramble to my feet, reaching for his hand.
Turmoil rips through my thoughts, displacing any sense of logic.
All I can see is Eli and Ellen, covered in blood.
I see Donatello, the man who left me for dead.
And now I see Mischa, shrugging me off so violently I trip and land on my knees. Watching him go, I can’t reconcile the fear constricting my chest, crushing the air from my lungs.
I can’t breathe.
Can’t move.
All I can do is try to scream.
21
Don
It’s a good fucking day. Despite the rain pouring down and the fact that Vin is glaring at me from the top of the hallway steps, I’m determined to make it so.
“A good damn day,” I say out loud, slamming my hand against the banister for emphasis. We’ve already packed our things, and between the two of us, the villa’s foyer is a maze of suitcases. Admittedly most are mine rather than Vin’s; his consist of just a few bags though the heaviest of the bunch. The boy likes his books.
“Good for who?” Vin grumbles. Shouldering a duffle, he descends the staircase to meet me. Without a fancy party to attend, he’s exchanged the suit for a sweater and jeans. From behind his glasses, he looks every bit the doctor in training—one who is scowling at the fact that, while dressing half-asleep, I managed to put on the same pants from said fancy party, speckled with my own blood.
As well as judging me for the minor crime of oversleeping, causing us to run late and miss my morning whiskey.
But, I suspect he’s pouting for another reason. Sure enough, he declares, “You’re not the one being shipped off like some unwanted stepchild.”
“Correction,” I say, stepping forward to cup his jaw in both hands. I squeeze his cheeks and coo like a mother hen. As he wrenches out of my reach, I’m lucky he doesn’t punch me. “You’re being shipped off like my only child. My cherished baby boy. Be glad you don’t have a mother here to pinch your cheeks. Though I may get teary-eyed when you finally leave, so take that as fair warning. Now give me a goodbye kiss.”
“Knock it off, old man!” He winces, dodging my hand as I reach for him again. “You do enough fussing over me for ten mothers.”
“Damn right. Now be a good lad and gather your stuff. By this time tomorrow, you’ll be back in your dorm, crying with homesickness.”
And I’ll be somewhere outside of the city, crying over a shot of whiskey at the state of my finances.
“Whatever you say, Don.” Rolling his eyes, Vin marches past me for the front door. A car is already waiting outside to take us to the airport, and with an exaggerated sigh, he heads toward it. From over his shoulder, he quips, “Since I’m your cherished boy, you should carry most of the bags, right?”
“Think again, smartass,” I call after him.
The second he’s out of view, the smile I’ve been sporting for his benefit falls. Fuck. Heavy with dread, I approach the room off the main hall that I’ve been using as a makeshift study. For the first time, I scan the pile of documents lying on the desk in a neat stack, left by Fabio, who worked all night to compile them. I look them over, hissing through my teeth. In a sense, they serve the same purpose as a white flag, ceding my control of the docks—and much of my income.
After Mischa’s suggested “donation” to his daughter’s conservatory, my disposal accounts will be all but drained. The rumors weren’t exaggerating about the bastard’s malicious streak.
God only knows how I’ll scrape together enough to continue to cover Vin’s tuition. He still has his trust fund, separate from any other accounts, but
